


I Have Gone Out

by victoria_p (musesfool)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-04
Updated: 2006-12-04
Packaged: 2017-10-03 22:38:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musesfool/pseuds/victoria_p
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She wonders what he'd say if she told him she knows who he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Have Gone Out

A woman like that is not ashamed to die.  
I have been her kind.  
"Her Kind" - Anne Sexton

*

Most of the boys she meets are soft, stupid. They don't know what's really out there in the dark, don't understand that it's held back by a small band of driven, often desperate people who spend their lives in the shadows, making the world a safer place. She knows that's not why most hunters do it--most of them have been scarred by the darkness, and have found the only means they have of fighting back. Most of them are not like her, raised to be a hunter, trained from the cradle up to fight, and only a promise--"There are other kinds of education, Jess, and you shouldn't let them pass you by." "I won't, Mom, I swear."\--and she couldn't bear the separation.

And he doesn't say anything either. Not a word about the wicked curved blade hidden behind the headboard, the .45 and the clip of silver bullets tucked away in a box on the top shelf of the closet. No explanation of the blank postcards that arrive every few months, postmarked from all around the country, or the messages on the answering machine that are nothing but measured breathing. At first she'd thought it was some pervert, but the number on the caller ID is always the same, and Sam always wears a guilty look when he erases the messages.

His brother, she thinks, who's just started making a name for himself in their little community, stepping out of his father's shadow, in the opposite direction from Sam. She'd like to meet him, to get to know the man who was such a force in shaping the man she loves, but Sam just shakes his head when she asks, so she doesn't press.

She doesn't say anything about her own cache of weapons, hidden in the trunk beneath her art supplies, about the occasional hunts that come her way, on nights he thinks she's hanging out with the girls, or dealing with some family business. She always makes sure she showers before she comes back to their apartment, washes the ash and blood and gravedust off her skin and hair and clothes, keeping the two sides of her life separate until the day she's sure he'll let her build a bridge between them, in her life, and in his.

She doesn't say anything, though sometimes she aches with carrying the secret, feels swollen of it, the way someday she might carry his child, safe and warm within the circle of their fierce protection, and eager for the day she can bring it forth, bright and new, a promise of their new life together.

She doesn't say anything when his brother arrives. She lies in bed for a few minutes and listens to them greet each other with kicks and punches before she joins them. She listens to their words, and all the things they don't say, and she knows that Sam's respite is over, that hunting has come to claim him, sure as it will claim her when the time comes. Dean is charming, serious, and entreating in turn, and she can see why Sam loves him, even as he pretends he doesn't miss him.

Sam comes back in a few minutes later, alone, and starts packing a duffel bag, mouthing reassuring lies.

When she says, At least tell me where you're going, she means, If you tell me, I can help you, and when he promises he'll be back in time for his interview, she forces herself to ignore the chill that shivers down her spine.

The hooked blade is gone from behind the headboard, but the gun is still in the closet, and while he's away, she cleans it, loads it, and slips it in the night table drawer.

He calls, and they both act like nothing's wrong, nothing's changed, but she knows that truth will out, and she'd rather do it on her own terms, so she spends their time apart trying to come up with ways to tell him that won't make him leave her forever. She knows how stubborn he is, how he clings to slights and nurses grudges, but she also knows how much he loves her and how he craves absolution when he's wrong.

When the demon shows up at her door, she fumbles for the gun, slow, too slow, all her training useless against the unseen force lifting her body from the floor. She gets two shots off but it disappears in a puff of smoke, unharmed even by the silver bullets, and that's when she knows she's lost. It whispers its plans in her ear, laughing at her horror, at what her death will do to Sam, who saw his mother die the same way when he was much too young to remember it.

The pain when it eviscerates her makes her wish she could pass out, but it keeps her conscious, aware of everything that's happening as it kills her.

She wishes she could see Sam one last time, but when he comes in, calling her name, she wishes he hadn't, wishes she could keep him safe, and far away from everything he's tried to escape but can't.

She tries to scream, to warn him, but she can't, her voice stuck in her throat the way her body is pinned to the ceiling.

All she can say is, _No! No!_ as the flames engulf her, but what she means is, I love you, and I'm sorry, and the last thing she hears is Sam calling her name as his brother drags him to safety.

Once she knows Sam is safe, she's not afraid to die.

end

~*~


End file.
